The Magic in the Flame
by Col3725
Summary: When Christine wants something really, really bad, what does she do? She writes it down on a piece of paper and burns it, of course, because then her wish is bound to come true.


_This one-shot was inspired by the Blackout in the Blizzard...kind of random, I know. I hope you like it._

* * *

Christine bounds down the steps, her hand gripping the railing, her pink strappy sandals slapping against the wood flooring, and her blonde braided pigtails flapping up and down. She pauses on the last step and takes a deep breath before jumping off and making her way to the kitchen. She runs her hand along the island countertop until she finds the drawer she's looking for. She pulls it open and reaches in, grabbing the red-handled lighter. She walks over to the phone and peels off a yellow post-it, a smile slowly forming on her face as she takes pen out of the container. She runs out of the room in search of her Daddy, who she suspects is in the garage working on a little project for Parker. "Daddy!"

Booth slides out from under the car he's currently inspecting, a silver 1969 Charger, and glances up at his little girl. "Yeah, Honey?"

"Whatcha doin'?" she smiles innocently and shuffles her feet on the concrete floor.

He sits up and reaches for the oil-smudged rag nearby, wiping his hands off. "I'm just taking another look at your brother's birthday present, making sure it's good to go for when he flies in next week." He motions for her to come closer and when she does, he grabs her by the hips and pulls her down to his lap.

She lets out a loud laugh of surprise and giggles when she lands with a plop in his lap. She shifts and scrunches up her nose. "Daddy, you smell bad and you're all sweaty." She pushes him away when he nuzzles his face in her hair. "Ew! You need a shower."

He loops his arms around her, but leans back, so only his arms and legs are touching her. It's at this time that he notices the items in her hands. "What are you doing with this stuff, Christine?"

"I wanna do the wishy thing." She shifts, so she's sitting sideways.

It takes him only a second to realize what she's talking about and he beams at her. "So you need a little bit of magic?" he asks, poking her in the stomach, eliciting another string of giggles.

She gives him an exaggerated nod once she catches her breath. "Uh-huh." She slips off his lap and kneels in front of him. She hands him the lighter, keeping the post-it and pen for herself. "You and mommy said I'm not s'posed to use the lighter 'cause it's dangerous, so I need help with the burny part."

He taps the tip of her nose. "Sure, I can burn your wish for you."

She sets the post-it on the floor and leans over it. She glances up at him sideways and pouts. "No peeking, Daddy!" She quickly scribbles down her wish and folds it in half before giving it to him.

He presses down the trigger once, twice, three times, until the lighter finally ignites and then inches the flame closer to the corner of the paper. "Any chance you'll tell me what you wrote down?"

She crosses her arms of her chest and shakes her head. "Nope 'cause then my wish won't come true," she says, the 'duh' at the end of her statement implied.

"Right, I tried," he mutters, watching the paper burn and losing himself in the memory of the last time he wanted something really, really bad. It seems like a lifetime ago he and Brennan were burning dates and promising themselves to each other. The feel of increased heat close to his fingertips brings him back to the present and he shakes the paper to put out the fire before he burns himself.

"How long do I have to wait?"

"There's no set timeline, Angel."

"Does it take forever?"

He laughs. "It seems like that, but no, not forever. It does take time, though. You'll just have to be patient. Sometimes your wish can come true when you least expect it."

She smiles. "Okay. I hope it comes true soon."

"This must be some wish." He pushes himself to his feet and holds his hands out for her, helping her up when she grabs hold of them. "Mom will probably be up from her nap soon, so why don't we go inside and you can play while I take a shower and then we'll make dinner."

She nods. "I'm a good 'sistant."

"The best. C'mon." He quickly cleans up and follows her into the house.

* * *

Later that night, Booth collapses onto the couch beside Brennan, handing her a glass of wine. He watches her take it, glance at its contents, and then set it on the coffee table. He raises an eyebrow and sips at his own wine. "I didn't poison it or anything, Bones."

Brennan turns her head and frowns. "What are you talking about, Booth?"

"The wine. You looked at it funny and then set it down without drinking any of it. I was joking."

"Oh." She laughs, but it's forced. "That's a good one."

"Okay, I'll bite." He sets his glass down and looks at her. "What's wrong? Are you feeling okay? You just seem, I don't know, off."

She exhales and reaches out, taking his hands, giving them a light squeeze before letting go, a faint smile on her face. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" He presses the back of his hand against her forehead just before she swats it away.

"I'm not sick, Booth." She stands and retreats into the kitchen, exchanging her glass of wine for a glass of ice water. She returns, oblivious to the emotional mixture of concern, confusion, and curiosity that passes across her partner's face. "You said you wanted to tell me something that happened earlier." She pauses to gulp down a generous amount of water and put the glass on the coffee table. "What is it?"

He shakes his head, blinking. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I was out in the garage when Christine came in. She needed my help. You remember the day we were trapped in the elevator at my apartment?"

She nods. "Of course I do." How could she forget? Even if she did, the blue stadium seats that caused them to make the unscheduled trip to his apartment that day and take the elevator instead of the stairs are in the study.

"And you remember the story I told you? The one about when I was a kid, if I wanted something really, really bad, I'd write it down on a piece of paper and burn it?"

She laughs. "Yes, your irrational belief in magic makes you more susceptible to thinking that burned particulates in the atmosphere somehow cause your most wanted wishes to come true more often than just simply voicing them; I remember."

"Well, it seems our little girl shares my irrational belief because she came in carrying a lighter, a post-it, and a pen and asked me to burn her wish because we told her fire was dangerous."

"You shouldn't encourage her, Booth. What happens when her wish doesn't come true?"

"Ours did," he points out.

"That," she sighs, "was different. At that point, a more intimate relationship was no longer a wish, but an inevitability and a promise." She pauses. "Did you at least look at the paper before you burned it? Perhaps if her wish is not too extravagant or difficult to find and acquire, we can grant it for her as a birthday or Christmas present."

"I meant to, but I—well I got a little distracted."

"She's going to be upset."

Not wanting to think about being the cause of Christine's first disappoint or being the reason she doesn't believe in magic and wishes and hope, he changes the subject, brining the conversation back to his partner's mysterious behavior. "Are you sure you're not sick? You barely touched your dinner and you're drinking water instead of wine, which is weird."

"I wasn't hungry; I had a rather large lunch."

"And the wine?"

"I don't drink wine every night, Booth."

"There's something on your mind; I can tell. Just talk to me, Bones. What's going on?"

She nods. "There is something on my mind."

"Okay. What is it?"

"I wanted to wait until the blood test came back, but I—."

His face falls. "Blood test? Bones, you're scaring me. Are you—are you okay?" he asks, his voice shaking.

She smiles. "I'm pregnant."

He blinks. "Wha—what? You're, you're pregnant?"

Laughing, she takes his hands once again and nods. "Yes."

His lips slowly curve upwards, his eyes brighten, and he lets out a low, breathy chuckle. "You're serious? We're gonna have another baby?"

Before she even has a chance to answer, his lips are on hers and she finds herself being pulled into him. Within seconds, the kiss transforms into something much less innocent and she's now lying on her back on the couch with him hovering above her.

He's got her shirt halfway off when he hears a far-away creak. He jumps back, both of them out of breath. "Did you hear that?"

She shakes her head and snakes her arm around his neck, guiding him back down.

He obliges, picking up where he left off. He groans when her hand brushes against him as she unbuttons his jeans and unzips them. "Bones," he pants, but he freezes again, hearing another squeak followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. He swallows. "You don't think she—," he whispers. He climbs off of her, redresses, and looks down at her flush face. "I'll go check on her."

She nods and reaches for her own shirt. Smirking, she slips the shirt over her head and meets his gaze. "We'll continue this soon."

He leans over and gives her a peck on the lips before practically flying up the steps.

* * *

Booth pushes open Christine's bedroom door and peers in. The room is still dark and Christine is curled up in her bed, hugging her ratty, pink stuffed bunny, facing the door. Her hair is mussed with sleep and her face is serene. He smiles and creeps in. He rights the covers, which are halfway off the bed, and tucks her in. He leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Angel."

She shifts. "Daddy?" she whispers.

"It's me, Honey. Go back to sleep." He strokes her hair and gives her another feather light kiss.

"My wish came true," she slurs, her eyes still shut.

"What?" He's left to ponder what she means since by the time he voices his confusion, she's already fallen back to sleep. He makes it to the bottom of the stairs before he realizes what she was talking about. At some point, Christine must have woken up and come downstairs, but he's not sure when she went back up to her room. He hopes she only caught their conversation because he's really not in the mood to explain the birds and bees to his six year-old. As he tries to figure out a way to change the subject if she did, in fact, stumble upon him and Brennan getting ready to make love on the couch, which he realizes wasn't the best idea he's ever had, something else hits him. He smiles smugly. "Oh, Bones…" _Not such an irrational belief now, is it? _


End file.
